


Refuge

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: AU, Ableism, Abuse, Canon Era, Gen, Violence, refuge au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2019-09-29 04:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17196623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Davey is thrown in the Refuge with Crutchie.





	Refuge

Warden Snyder was the creepiest person Crutchie had ever met, and it only got worse when he was trying act nice. He’d been real nice to Crutchie the past day or two, all pats on the back and long heart to hearts about some other kids who’d been cleaned up and made into the Refuge’s success stories. He’d taken Crutchie’s face in his hands the other day, while he’d talked about the value of respectability and hard work. The slick dampness of his palms, and the way his fingers had fanned out around his face and to his temples had made Crutchie’s skin crawl, in a way that was beyond understanding considering it was really just a touch, and Crutchie didn’t know all that many folks who put much stock in personal space. It was the same as the way that Crutchie didn’t know a lot of people who brushed their teeth on the regular, but the smell of Snyder’s breath had made his stomach churn in a way nothing else ever had.

All this had come after days locked in the isolation ward, days of beatings and starvation. It’d done such a number on his stomach that he’d thrown up his first real meal, and such a number on the rest of him that his ears were still ringing and he just about had two bum legs instead of one. Even so, Snyder didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy training him to be a waiter, clicking his tongue at him when he delivered things too slowly, scolding him lightly about how he’d never get anywhere if he let his disability get him down, like it was all a matter of attitude and perseverance, and the injuries that had been inflicted on him had nothing to do with any of it.

Crutchie knew all about perseverance. He knew all about attitude and looking on the bright side of things. He was starting to learn something about fear and helplessness, but maybe not about hopelessness. Not that. Net yet. The strike was still happening after all. Crutchie knew, because Snyder flat out told him, suggested and then hinted that he ought to give up any information he had on Jack. Snyder’s methods got gentler, more subtle as Crutchie refused to squeal, refused to say anything that might jeopardize Jack or the strike. Crutchie kept his guard up. It was the only thing he could do.

——

A couple days passed. No beatings, some food, a newspaper article about the strike to bolster Crutchie’s spirits… And then Davey, dragged in in a frenzy of pushing and shouts, and blows that Crutchie felt as if they were being swung at him all over again. He was put in solitary right off the bat, the very same cell that Crutchie had inhabited a week before.

At midnight Crutchie came to him, armed with a potato he’d snitched off of Snyder’s plate. He opened the slot in the door, and Davey’s eyes met his. For a second Crutchie was relieved that he was awake, then worried, because maybe it meant he was too much in pain to sleep off his injuries. Crutchie waited. Davey was still, and then finally he crawled over to the door. Their fingers brushed as Davey took the potato.

Crutchie tried to think what Jack would say in these circumstances. Something reassuring. Something like hang in there kid or It’ll be fine or once we get out of here I’m taking you to Santa Fe .

“You hanging in there?” Crutchie asked instead. “They hurt you bad?”

“I’ll live,” Davey said. He rested his head on the door like he was dizzy, but only for a moment, and then he seemed to purposely gather energy. “You?” He asked.

“Same,” Crutchie said. “Same.” He tried to think of something to say that’d make things better for Davey, then suddenly smiled, remembering. “Hey,” he said, “Hey. I got some good news, and I gotta pencil. Specs is in with one of the guards. He can help you get a note through to the outside if you want, straight to just about anybody worth writing to — Specs knows ‘em all.”

“I’ve got some good news too,” Davey said. “You wouldn’t believe what’s going on tonight. What…um…” Davey looked around, like he was trying to verify whether or not it was safe to talk. “What some people are doing. People you know.”

“You can whisper it to me,” Crutchie suggested. Davey leaned in like he was going to do just that, but then his eyes widened just a little, and he took in a sharp breath.

“Centaur counter-effort at three point twenty-six rotations!” Davey said in a rush that was not quite a whisper. Crutchie was about to ask Davey what in the hell he was talking about, when a shadow seemed to detach itself from the wall behind Crutchie to go dashing down the hall that led to the warden’s chambers. Another one of Snyder’s projects most likely, a Refuge success story in the making. Crutchie shivered. It was not going to be a good night for him and Davey.

———  
Morning came, but not before a half dozen nonsense stories about centaurs and other strange creatures told for the warden’s benefit, all mixed in with beatings and pleas, and a lot more fear than Crutchie would ever admit to.

The sun brought with it help and freedom, and an answer to just what Davey had been keeping a secret, and what their friends had been doing. Morning brought with it Teddy Roosevelt himself delivering a copy of the Newsies banner into Crutchie’s hands and then Davey’s.


End file.
